


powerless

by CapnWinghead



Category: DC Extended Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Pining, Post-Justice League (2017), Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25701925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapnWinghead/pseuds/CapnWinghead
Summary: During a battle, Clark is hit with a spell that sends him five years into the future.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 26
Kudos: 305





	powerless

**Author's Note:**

> A quick fill for Day 3 of Au August. Prompt: Time Travel.

Bruce Wayne was a hard man to know.

If Clark was under the impression they’d get along better after his return from the dead, he’d been wrong. Bruce was still surly, assertive and patronizing. He still treated Diana like the only League member with valuable strategic input. Victor and Barry were still so young and Clark was untrained and unskilled in Bruce’s eyes. In the field, Bruce gave orders and, if anything so much as approached Clark, Bruce was usually there to chase it away. He didn’t seem to trust Clark to handle anything on his own.

It often left Clark to wonder why Bruce wanted him on the team at all. 

They were chasing a gang of dark sorcerers through downtown Metropolis when Clark had finally had enough.

Dodging an errant spell, Clark had just enough time to turn and catch Bruce sliding in front of yet another blast. Clark snapped.

“What is your problem?” he demanded, striding forward.

Straightening, Bruce stared down his nose at Clark as he approached. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t keep treating me like one of the kids! I’m part of this team.” Bruce was silent, his jaw tense. “You wanted me here. I’m just as capable as the others. I can take a hit.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Bruce rasped, a flash of something darker in his eyes. A beat passed and it was gone, as if it had never been there at all.

Clark stared at him a moment longer as they stood, inches away. Bruce’s face was unreadable behind that mask, his brown eyes stubborn and certain. Always so certain where Clark stumbled and often questioned himself. Just being around Bruce made him feel on unstable ground, unsure of himself but drawn closer regardless. As if he was chasing Bruce’s approval and rejecting the idea of it at the same time.

It felt like orbiting the sun.

He shook himself. “You can’t protect me from everything,” he said, watching as Bruce’s eyes widened.

Darting forward, he grasped Clark’s forearms tight. “Clark!” he shouted, trying to yank him forward.

The world went dark.

Clark’s last thought: it had been a long time since Bruce had called him by his name.

* * *

Clark woke up with a crick in his neck.

Grimacing, he started to sit up when a weight shifted in his lap. Reflexively, he reached out to secure it.

It moved.

Clark’s eyes shot open, his heart lurching as he took in the sight before him. A child was sleeping in his arms, a head of messy dark hair resting on his chest. The steady pace of the boy’s heartbeat meant he was sleeping. It was a strangely familiar pattern. Clark’s arms tightened around him, securing him as he sat up.

“He’s asleep? You must’ve made it into the inner circle,” a familiar voice called out.

Clark looked up to find Bruce standing in an open doorway. He was smiling, as if this situation was strange enough already. Sipping from his mug, Bruce entered the room, his footsteps soundless on the wood floors. His gaze fell to the boy in Clark’s arms, his hand gentle as he touched his head. There was a softness to his face that Clark had never seen and a fondness in his eyes that left Clark strangely envious.

“He doesn’t get enough sleep as it is,” Bruce murmured.

“Must take after you,” Clark replied. It seemed like the thing to say. Brue treated him with a raised brow, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. It was rather pleasant and Clark warmed a bit.

As confused as he was, it was a safe bet this boy was one of Bruce’s kids. How Clark had gotten into Wayne Manor when he’d been in the middle of a battlefield moment s ago, Clark didn’t know. Had he suffered some sort of concussion? It would’ve taken a hell of a punch to make a dent. Who would’ve managed to land such a blow?

He was lost in thought when calloused fingers brushed his cheek, startling him back into awareness. Concerned brown eyes scanned his face, sharp and focused. Bruce’s hand spread across his cheek drawing Clark’s gaze to his. There were lines on Bruce’s face that Clark didn’t recognize.

He’d never say so, but he’d become quite the expert on Bruce’s face in the past year or so. He knew all of its little quirks, the scars his concealer never quite touched near his hair line, the slow spread of grey along his temples. Clark knew when a quirk to Bruce’s brow meant he was curious and when it simply meant he was tired.

The face staring back at him now was different in several little ways.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked.

Swallowing nervously, Clark forced the words past his lips. “Bruce, something’s wrong here.”

Bruce put the boy to bed and brought Clark down the stairs. They moved through a dimly lit living room to a grandfather clock. He turned the hands, his hand tightening around Clark’s as he led him down a dark stairwell. It seemed to go on forever, Clark’s eyes taking a moment to adjust to the darkness. He should’ve been scared, heading deeper into the dark without sight. Somehow, Bruce’s hand in his made him feel safe.

Bruce led Clark over to a chair, crossing his arms as he stood before him. A silver band on his ring finger caught the light, drawing Clark’s gaze. Had it been there before? Had Clark never noticed?

No, he would’ve remembered that strange twist in his stomach.

“What’s going on?”

Clark shook himself, wringing his hands together. The Bruce he knew would take Clark’s next words as reason enough to finally kick him out of the League. But somehow, Clark felt like this Bruce might hear him out.

“I don’t know how I got here,” Clark said haltingly. “The last thing I remember is yelling at you during a fight. Then, somehow, I woke up here.”

Boots sounded quietly on the stone floor as Bruce came closer, ducking down in front of Clark. Bruce ran his fingers through Clark’s hair, muttering, “I don’t’ feel any knots.”

“It would take—”

“A lot to cause any damage,” Bruce finished. He sat back on his knees, scanning Clark’s face. “What was the fight about?”

Clark blinked at him. “You were being a jerk?”

Biting down a laugh, Bruce elaborated, “I mean what were we fighting?”

“Oh, a group of dark sorcerers. They’d taken over a block of Metropolis.”

Bruce’s eyes widened in concern, his voice tight. “Clark, that was five years ago.”

Bruce brought in a sorceress, Zatanna. She walked around Clark in a circle, murmuring to herself. A circle of light ran down his body from head to toe, the sight of it making him anxious.

Finally, she stepped back. “This is your Clark,” she said and Bruce calmed a bit, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “This is Clark from five years ago. Whatever spell hit you, it gave you a glimpse into your future.”

“How’s that possible?” Clark asked.

She smiled sadly. “Magic,” she said simply.

“I hate magic,” Bruce muttered, running a hand over his head. At Zatanna’s pointed look, he added, “But not yours.”

She cocked her head to the side, her hat miraculously staying on. “I don’t think it’s permanent. That’s the good news.” She packed up her things, lowering her gaze to the table. “Unfortunately, I can’t tell you how long it’ll last.”

Bruce walked her out, giving Clark some time alone.

He paced the cave a bit, his mind reeling. On the one hand, it explained Bruce’s sudden tolerance of him. And the changes to his face. On the other hand, he’d proved his Bruce – the Bruce of the past – Clark had proved him right. Maybe Clark really wasn’t ready to be a part of the League. He’d done okay on his own but, on a team, he’d barely lasted a year before getting blasted into the future.

A future where Bruce smiled at him and trusted him around his kids and in his home. A future where Bruce was married and spent quiet nights at home with his kid. It made Clark smile to think that there was a soft side to the Bat. A side that only a privileged few ever got a glimpse of.

At the same time, Clark couldn’t help but be jealous that someone else got to see it on a regular basis. Someone else was privy to soft touches and affectionate smiles. The easy trust that came with being part of Bruce’s inner circle. Something Clark had only dreamed of.

Bruce returned, taking a seat at his desk chair. His face was indecipherable. As he ran a hand over his head, the ring caught the light again. A knot lodged in Clark’s throat as he grabbed a stool and pulled it over to sit in front of Bruce.

“You have questions,” Bruce began. “Zatanna isn’t sure what good it’ll do to answer them. You might never remember any of this.”

Clark nodded, chewing on his lip. Then, “I don’t care. I’d like you to tell me.” Bruce nodded, clasping his hands together. Clark’s eyes fell to them. “You’re married.”

Bruce was quiet. When Clark could bring himself to look into his face, he found Bruce studying the band with amusement. Finally, he slipped the ring off, handing it to Clark. Bemused, Clark took it, studying it. As he held it up to the light, he found an inscription. Stomach twisting, he worried he’d see a date or a tribute to a spouse that had passed.

Instead, “This is Kryptonian,” he whispered. He read the words, his breath catching.

_To my beloved._

He looked to Bruce wondrously. “I don’t understand.” Bruce’s eyes shuttered and Clark rasped, “I don’t have a ring.”

Bruce took his back, carefully placing it on his finger. “You’re indestructible. We couldn’t find a ring that wasn’t.”

Swallowing, Clark found it near impossible to draw his eyes away from the ring. Resting on Bruce’s finger, telling the world that he was Clark’s. And Bruce wore it. _Proudly_. Clark’s chest swelled with something warm he couldn’t name, his heart beating fast in his chest.

“When did we,” the words stuck in his throat. He looked to Bruce, his voice stronger. “How long have we been together?”

“Three years. Openly for two.” At the question, the corner of his mouth quirked. “We slept together, which was a mistake. And we kept making it until I realized you were trying to date me.”

It startled out a laugh. Clark covered his mouth. “How long?”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed briefly. “Six months.”

“Wow.”

“There were a lot of other things going on.”

“I’m sure.”

“We saved the world many times.”

“Master detective,” Clark interjected, earning a light glare.

“You could’ve outright asked,” Bruce pointed out.

Clark smiled. “I probably could have.”

Bruce returned it. Clark’s eyes fell to the band once more. “When did we get married?” he asked.

“Three months ago.” His face was drawn as he twisted the ring around his finger. “It was small. Just the League, Lois, Martha and my family.”

“What happened?”

“Luthor,” Bruce replied mutedly. Clark’s smile fell, his eyes tracing the tension in Bruce’s face. “I was in the hospital for four months. I couldn’t even stand at the altar. You didn’t care.”

Reaching out, Clark took his hand, tracing his thumb over the silver band. “What happened?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Bruce looked to him, his eyes firm. “There was nothing you could’ve done. The second I was well enough, we got married. Best choice I ever made.”

Clark found it hard to see the certainty in his gaze, a vice grip around his lungs and a strange flutter in his stomach. He focused on Bruce’s hands. “I would’ve wanted a ring.”

“You would?” His hands were bigger than Clark’s, experienced and sure. Comforting and leaving Clark a little more settled than he felt entitled to be at the moment. They left him a little too honest.

“I think so.” He offered a small smile, his voice growing rough. “But what do I know? Clearly, your Clark, this _future_ me, is someone spectacular. They’re someone you could love. We must not have a lot in common.”

Bruce’s eyes darkened, his hand tightening around Clark’s. “You really have no idea,” he whispered, holding his gaze. “You really don’t know why I did any of it, do you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Bruce shook his head, the corner of his mouth quirked. “Risk my life to bring you back, make due on two hours of sleep to stay late and train you, step in front of gods and monsters for you.”

“I wasn’t good enough,” Clark whispered.

Reaching up, Bruce touched his cheek, his eyes bright. “Clark, I was never good enough. I’d already lost you once and I did everything I possibly could to make sure that never happened again.” His thumb traced over Clark’s cheek, eyes soft and warm. “No one else ever made me feel the way you do.”

Every brush of his fingers left Clark tongue tied, a nervous flutter in his stomach. “Our first night together, you were in my face yelling at me and I just wanted you to stop.”

Clark laughed, a light expanding in his chest. “You slept with me to shut me up?”

“I kissed you to shut you up,” he said with a grin. “I slept with you because I wanted to. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done anything simply because I wanted to. And I wanted you.”

Light from the screens washed over them, illuminating them in blue. His eyes held Clark’s, dark as he drew closer. Clark’s breath caught as he neared, a fire igniting in his blood. Clark waited, watching as Bruce’s eyes fell closed. Clark’s stomach tensed in anticipation, Bruce’s fingers leaving a brushfire across his sin.

His breath warm, wet on Clark’s mouth as his stomach tightened. Heat coiled in his center, his heart pounding in his chest. “I still don’t know why you did it,” Bruce whispered.

Clark gripped his wrist, rising up and crushing their mouths together. Pulling him closer, Bruce’s fingers brushed a spot behind Clark’s ear, drawing a shiver as his mouth fell open. Heart in his throat, Clark followed Bruce’s lead, welcoming his tongue. Touching it lightly with his own, teasingly, shivering with each slick slide that left him burning up from the inside. Lost in the feel of it, in the way Bruce easily took over.

The easy way he made Clark his.

Nobody had ever made Clark feel like this; powerless.

The weight of that revelation should’ve given Clark pause. Perhaps it would have if he weren’t more concerned with chasing more Bruce’s touches.

A hand palmed Clark’s throat, drawing a groan that Bruce quickly chased with a biting kiss. Finally, he pulled back, pressing their heads together. “You have more questions.”

His eyes opened, dark and focused. Clark licked his lips, swallowing as Bruce traced the motion hungrily. “How did it happen?”

“Which part?”

“When did you know I was the person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with?”

Bruce gave this thought, chewing on his lip. It was kiss bitten, swollen and wet and the sight made Clark’s cock pulse. “You were in the med bay and being a stubborn idiot about it. You’d just passed out in the middle of a fight and I had to force you to stay in bed. I remember thinking, we’d probably have this same fight for the rest of our lives and that was okay with me because it meant you’d still be here.”

Wordless, Clark’s chest tightened as he took in the Bruce’s face. He wanted to keep this image with him: the tender look in Bruce’s eyes, the softness to his face, the warmth in his smile.

He wanted to remember this.

Bruce led him up to their bedroom that night.

He fell asleep wrapped in Bruce’s arms, at peace for the first time in a long time. In the hands of a man he was coming to realize he’d never understood.  
  
  


* * *

When Clark woke up the next morning, he was in the med bay at League HQ.

Sitting up with a grimace, Clark took in the empty room sullenly. He’d just started climbing out of bed when Bruce came in, dressed in one of his three-piece suits. It was oddly rumpled, his hair hanging in his face as he entered. Seeing Clark sitting up, he glowered.

“What are you doing? Get back in bed.”

“I’m fine,” he replied shakily. He wasn’t. When he closed his eyes, he could still feel that silver band beneath his fingers.

“You’ve been out for two days.”

“I need to get home,” he said mutedly.

“You need to be looked over.”

Clark blinked at him, his eyes falling to Bruce’s hands. Scarred and calloused, bare. Clark’s eyes welled up, a vice closing around his lungs.

“Clark?” Bruce asked gently, moving in closer.

“I need to get home,” he repeated.

“You’re staying here until Diana can find a sorceress we can trust to look you over. If there even is one,” he muttered. “I hate magic.”

Clark smiled despite himself, a tear rolling down his cheek. “Zatanna.”

“What?”

“A Sorceress. We can trust her.” Bruce stared at him. “You can trust her.”

“Did you hit your head?”

“No, I’m just… tired.” He climbed to his feet, freezing as Bruce came over. His hands landed on Clark’s shoulders, as if he truly could force him back in bed. “I’m fine.”

“You’ll let me be the judge of that.” Clark blinked at him. “You’re not exactly the best judge, are you? And what were you thinking back there? I don’t care if you’re mad at me, you can’t let yourself get distracted in the middle of a fight. None of us had any idea what happened to you. Or if you’d ever wake up,” he said roughly.

It wasn’t the first time he’d lectured Clark, but, for the first time, Clark heard what went unsaid. He saw the tension in Bruce’s face, the concern in his eyes, the twinge of worry in his voice. And Clark remembered what he’d said to Bruce before everything went dark.

“You can’t protect me from everything,” he repeated.

Bruce’s mouth moved wordlessly. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know that.”

“No, you don’t,” Clark replied. He reached out, his palm spreading out across Bruce’s chest. Brown eyes found his, a twinge of doubt in a sea of questions. Clark heard the uptick in Bruce’s heart, but he imagined he could feel it, too. He smiled, moving in closer.

“Clark,” Bruce rasped. “I’ll always keep trying.”

Clark’s fingers twisted in his tie, pulling him closer. He wrapped his arms around Bruce’s neck, nosing into his throat. “I know,” he murmured.


End file.
